


you are my starry night

by Mother_North



Series: Enchantment [3]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Artists, Art References, Chance Meetings, Desire, Elements of Het, Fate & Destiny, Inspiration, Inspired by Art, M/M, Mild Smut, POV First Person, POV Third Person, Painter Javier, Painting, Post-Break Up, Romantic Angst, Sex, a bit kinky maybe, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-18 21:38:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17588909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_North/pseuds/Mother_North
Summary: Javier is a painter. Yuzuru is his canvas.





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> The line of the epigraph is a quote in Latin by Seneca: "There is no easy way from the earth to the stars”.
> 
> RPF disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and it is not meant to offend anyone. It is a product of author’s imagination only. All thoughts, actions and emotions described below have nothing to do with reality.

**I.**

_Non est ad astra mollis e terris via_

**

 

He liked wandering the streets for inspiration. Be it at night time when there is only eerie quietude and silver moonlight (with occasional curse or two by some miserable drunkard, sitting near an already closed bar) or a stroll in bright day light, crowded streets greeting him with clamour, people hurrying to live their lives. His eye of an artist caught faces, knew how to decipher human emotions and sometimes liked to think he could read destinies in people’s irises. He fantasized about the strangers he saw, their fates and hidden desires. Not a telepathic gift of any kind but artistic intuition, the sixth sense, a gift to see a possible art object in a gesture of a hand or a quick shadow of concentration over someone’s high forehead. Javier liked to think he was capable of making up a life story for everyone who has caught his eye in one way or another. He sought inspiration everywhere, a constant quest of his since he felt the draw to take a brush into his hand to create worlds of his own.

Javier knew very well what misery felt like when he returned to his attic late at night, quivering from exhaustion. He fell to the bedsheets without taking off his clothes, all senses numb. To tell the truth, he knew not what exactly he was looking for… A perfect model to pose for him for hours on end? His own _Starry Night_ or _Sunflowers_ , his own _Scream_ or _La Gioconda_ to haunt his dreams at night. He realized full well he was neither Van Gogh nor Munch nor Da Vinci, just an unknown painter with a sharp pencil and sharp desire to create, for the process of creation meant _life_ to him, his sole reason to take the next breath.

Javier searched the streets of the old town, he didn’t shy away from the darkest corners and seediest places, the seamy side of life didn’t scare him. He needed experiences _(all sorts of)_ to sustain his productivity: be it a professional and depersonalized touch of a manicured hand or the burn of the cheap booze down his throat; absinth-induced dreams materializing to be forgotten on the following morning, leaving only severe headache and despair in their wake.

Everything was in vain.

He remembered times when he could draw, when he could pour his soul onto the sheet of paper and later onto a square canvas. Then it all ended. Abruptly and cruelly and he thought he would die on the day _she_ left. Her curly, hazelnut hair smelled of chamomile and sunshine, she was his _Madonna_ at one point; the one to be adored and cherished by the strokes of his brush. She smiled at him and he wanted to capture her radiance as sunrays got tangled in her long tresses. His love made her beautiful.

_“Why are you smiling, Javi?”_

_“Because I love you. Please, don’t move and seat still. Just give me twenty minutes to finish the sketch.”_

_“Do you know why you love me, Javi?”_

_“No.”_

_“Because I am not in love with you.”_

Javier chucked and shook his head, he was blinded by her youthful appearance and his own delusional sentiments; he nurtured the seeds of his doomed love in his heart, he let them grow to later strangle his reason. He got caught and the day she didn’t appear at his doors, gone forever wasn’t perceived as deliverance by Javier. He was a wreck on the desolate shore, wounded and betrayed.

Lying prostrate at night and staring at the ceiling he couldn’t cry, tears wouldn’t come. He stopped waiting after a year and a half. He was drawing to preserve his sanity, to keep himself from crumbling — hours of pointless sketching, he didn’t like a single one of _phantoms_ he was trying to depict, ghosts of his past, now lost forever. Javier told himself he had to let go, he had to find a new source of inspiration, despair consuming him alive.

Once Javier was walking down the long cobbled street _(same faces, same air and same hopelessness),_ when he saw _him._ The flash of hope making his heart beat wildly against his ribcage, he was struck by lightning of powerful, life-changing realization that this is _him_ , _the one_ he was looking for, _the one_ he wanted to put on the pedestal of his artistic aspirations. An apparition which suddenly seemed more real than all of the people he has ever seen or touched. He needed to see the youth of enticing obsidian eyes and ivory skin once more, he couldn’t lose trace of _him._

He was walking behind the young man, shivering from agitation, his thoughts running amok in his head: is he an angel that went down to sinful earth to bring salvation to beauty-starved souls; is he a demon to beguile and seduce, souls suffering at his delicate hands, dying of unrequited love..?

Javier tried to guess his name.

_Gabriel? Sebastian?  Francis?_

_Only those of Angels and Saints._

Javier was sure no mortal could possess such ethereal beauty. The young man looked at him only once when he came too close from behind _(Javier intended to catch his smell: a sweet vanilla? a freshness of morning dew? a heady sandal wood?)_. The young man’s eyes were ready to devour him, so obscure and bewitching and Javier would jump into the abyss happily, _the_ _little incubus_ claiming his heart and soul with the help of a single glance.

 _In two days_ Javier knew where he lived, he waited and watched and hid, his intent to find out more about the youth as strong as ever. He prayed at night before the altar next to his bed in the silence of the solitary room to see him again. He watched his silhouette move in a window of the second floor, dark against the yellow cozy light.

Javier needed a dose of stranger’s intoxicating beauty on a daily basis like a severe addict would need his drug.

He closed his eyes to dream of him and he woke up in the morning with the thought of him, his imagination supplying images: _him_ sleeping peacefully in his bed among crumpled sheets — perfect lips half-opened and raven hair disheveled; _him_ having his breakfast — delicate fingers and lips covered in _peach\orange\strawberry_ juice, tiny droplets sliding down his cute chin… He learned his little gestures and the way he tilted his head when he was gazing at shop windows with an interest of an innocent child. He looked unguarded then and strangely concentrated at the same time — a walking contradiction.

Javier thought he was weaved out of contrasts: the way his voice sounded when he greeted a passing acquaintance: “ _Hello, Mrs. J.”, “Have a nice day Mister K.!”_ Scarce phrases which let Javier hear him speak: the velvety timbre, not too high and not too low — raindrops on the windowsills and quiet murmur of the sea in flat calm.

 _In three days_ Javier knew where the young man worked — an assistant in a sweet-shop; surrounded by numerous cupcakes and candies, pastry and ice-cream, whipped cream and chocolate frosting _(Javier considering him to be the icing on the cake)_.

_“Can I buy this delicious looking dessert? I like strawberry flavor the best!”_

_“Can you recommend me some of the best dark chocolate? Yes, I love chili pepper and ginger! It is a peculiar taste indeed!”_

_“Will you tell me your name if I buy the most expensive cake you have to offer?”_

Javier was staring at him through the window glass and he looked unreachable and distant like a star on the velvety expanse of the night sky.

Javier saw him come and leave every single day and on _the seventh_ _evening_ _(a holy number, no less)_ he finally made up his mind.

 

 


	2. II.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of names learnt, black daffodils and Spring of Life.

**

 

Javier felt as if he hasn’t talked in ages, his tongue a useless lump of flesh in his suddenly dry mouth. He cleared his throat, catching the young man’s gaze with gritty determination.

“Hello! My name is Javier…Javier Fernandez and I am a painter. I would like you to be my model! If you don’t mind! Please?”

Words rushed out of him and he forgot how to breathe while looking at the young man’s widened eyes, his expression obviously startled. He was waiting for a refusal, cursing his straightforwardness and awkward nervousness.

At last _he_ spoke and Javier was bathing in the sound of his voice — a robin redbreast at dawn, chirping to greet the rising sun.

“Your face looks familiar. I have seen you before…”

Javier swore under his breath. It looks like he hasn’t been discreet enough.

“Yes…The thing is I live not far away from the sweet-shop you are working at. I think it is a great shop, by the way — the best sweets in the whole town, probably. I’ve thought of buying something already but you see, I don’t like candies and cakes and all of that stuff…I am more addicted to plain black coffee, the bitter the better. So…”

The young man blinked several times, staring at Javier intently as if studying his face. Javier couldn’t tear his eyes off his moving lips: the cherubic cupid’s bow and tempting fullness.

“Hm…You are quite strange. I am sorry but I don’t think I’ll make a good model for a painter and…”

A wave of despair washed over Javier’s insides, his voice trembling slightly.

“But please…Perhaps, you do not believe me! I am a painter! Have a look!”

Javier outstretched his hands, wordlessly pleading _him_ to look at the traces of oil paint stains at them: dark-blue and mauve, beige and yellowish. Testimonies of his artistic endeavors, his attempts to keep on living, trying to hold on to his sole reason of existence — his art.

The young man with ebony hair and starry eyes tentatively touched the spot on his index finger and Javier was shaken by the contact, electric bolt shooting up his spine, igniting his nerve-endings. He was struck by lightning amidst the street on a cloudless evening.

“Will you come tomorrow to my attic? I have a studio in there. Street R.-de-M., not far from here, a red brick house with a tile roof. The light is the best in there so it is absolutely crucial for me to paint you at my place!”

Javier was looking at the young man with utmost sincerity, not daring to utter a word anymore. He wanted his eyes to speak instead. He has decided that it was a matter of life and death, that if the youth refuses he would burn the attic down with him barricaded inside; meeting his ultimate end, surrounded by numerous unfinished sketches and ever unborn masterpieces of his.

_Please. Please. Please._

_He_ was hesitating.

“Well, I don’t know… Usually I am not the type to agree to such type of propositions…I have to think. Come here tomorrow at the same hour and maybe I’ll go with you but I haven’t promised you anything at all yet!”

 _He_ turned away and Javier’s sun has dipped below the horizon. Javier smiled and nodded, his heartbeat thundering in his chest which was ready to combust from the overflowing emotions.

The young man had airy tread and as _he_ was nearing the corner of the street, Javier became panic stricken. How could he have forgotten?

_Inexcusable._

He shouted:

“Tell me your name!”

The young man smiled over his shoulder — pearly teeth and moving sincerity to conquer hearts.

“Yuzuru! My name is Yuzuru!”

 

**

 

Javier got to his bedroom as if in a daze, exotic name replaying in his mind over and over again. He thought it was piquant and extraordinary. He pronounced it, rolling consonants and vowels over his tongue, as if it were a delicacy to savor: Y, U, Z, U, R, U. He thought of letters as colors, letting his imagination flow, producing images almost synesthetic in their nature:

_Y —_ _passionate vermilion;_

_U —_ _majestic silver;_

_Z —_ _enigmatic fuchsia;_

_U —_ _rich black;_

_R —_ _bewitching violet;_

_U —_ _vibrant turquoise._

Kaleidoscopic bright lights dancing in front of his mind’s eye, he prayed for tomorrow to come quicker. He would take the brush and pencil again, he would try to capture the beautiful stranger’s essence to put it on paper and canvas; he would steal it from the time and destiny itself. Javier had a feeling that his life had now been divided in two, the providence giving him yet one more chance for salvation.

He woke up with the first ray of sunlight, blinking around his modest dwelling: a single room with the bed and the sink, a big window on the ceiling pouring ashen light from above. He saw a vase of blue-glass standing lonely on the smooth surface of the wooden table. He couldn’t recall when the last time he had put flowers into it actually was. It seemed like it was a lifetime ago, when his former self still knew how to appreciate their simple loveliness.

And what if Yuzuru says _no_? The mere thought made Javier ache. The fate couldn’t be this cruel to him. All of a sudden, he couldn’t stay inside a moment longer, needing a distraction acutely. He rushed out into the street, legs taking him to the flower shop as if on their own accord. Without an ounce of hesitation, he bought _seven_ yellow daffodils, their meek stalks and lively petals being to his liking.

Javier put the flowers into the sapphirine vase, their unsophisticated beauty animating the grey and brown pallet of his interior — a much needed breath of life to dispel the reigning gloom of melancholia.

 

**

 

At seven o’clock p.m. Javier was standing at the stairs of the sweet-shop. Yuzuru came out in five minutes, his countenance pale and serene.

“Hello, Javier!”

Javier was praying inwardly but to no avail, he could read it all on the young man’s face the moment he saw him.

“Listen, I am really sorry but I think I can’t…I am busy and…”

Javier clenched his fists in a barely concealed irritation; it was obvious the young man was simply searching for excuses not to pose for him. He was just too polite to refuse him bluntly. Javier bit his lower lip, drawing blood, the taste of copper in his mouth invigorating, giving him an impulse to fight. He has put his life at stake, after all.

_It was now or never._

“Have you ever seen the stars reflected in a puddle, people passing by not looking, beauty stomped upon…They don’t look, _they don’t want to see_ …Always hurrying, constantly seeking distraction from things that truly matter… Isn’t it a crime in itself, committed out of blindness and insensitivity..? No, no, wait! Please, don’t leave!”

Javier made a move to catch Yuzuru’s wrist but withdrew his hand in the last moment, not daring to touch. He was practically spitting words out frantically, appearing slightly unhinged.

“Do you like flowers? Aren’t they the epitome of beauty?! I thought so too before I met you! I think you are… _special_. I beg you to pose for me, I beg you to let me paint your portrait! I can see it in my mind so vividly it hurts... I’ll die if you don’t let me! I swear!”

Javier was staring at Yuzuru with scorching intensity, waiting for a death sentence or a pardon, suspended in time and space. He saw the young man furrowing his brow in deep thought, his inner struggle evident.

Javier grabbed the straw with both hands, continuing his verbal onslaught, albeit a tad milder.

“I am often bad with words…But I want to tell you how you make me feel with my brush. It is the way I communicate emotions, words are limited and they may lie but the colors — _never_. You’ll see for yourself, just let me show you…Please.”

Javier’s half-choked pleas were laced with desperation, making Yuzuru’s initial reluctance waver. He was staring directly at Yuzuru, his gaze equally stern and beseeching, disclosing a storm raging inside.

“ _The flowers are already waiting for you, Yuzuru_.”

_His final cry for mercy._

The young man casted his eyes downwards and Javier realized he won, a triumphant flame consuming his heart, a song of hope sung in his veins.

 

**

 

Yuzuru’s long fingers closed around the seven yellow daffodils, his lips half-opened, sable eye-lashes quivering against his pale cheeks. Javier touched the virgin canvas tentatively, as if he was afraid to mar its pristine surface with a plebeian touch. The brush felt heavy in his hand and the fingers were frustratingly disobeying. The vision of _his own_ _Dark Madonna_ was flooding his mind, all other thoughts becoming non-existent. He needed to grasp its spell-bounding beauty in each stroke: he had to see Yuzuru’s core naked and raw; not only his unblemished, ivory skin and enticing carmine lips, not only his long, slender neck and refined collarbones, not only his ebony soft hair and matching dark orbs of black marble... Javier wanted to convey his _inner_ _luminance_ and it seemed the hardest task of all.

“Yes, that’s it… Don’t move, please. Perfect!”

Yuzuru smiled at him faintly and Javier noticed a tiny vein beating beneath the tender skin of his temple. He licked his lips, an exciting rush of inspiration sweeping over his whole being. His hand was now moving with calm confidence and diligence, little nuances and details of Yuzuru’s harmonious appearance unfolding in front of his eyes of an artist, his vision as clear as ever.

Javier couldn’t stop even if his life depended on it. They worked in silence for two hours before Javier saw Yuzuru begin shifting tiredly.

“Just half an hour more! I implore you!”

Perspiration covered Javier’s face, a deep crease of intense concentration bisecting his broad forehead. He was biting his bottom lips constantly, pain urging him on, being strangely stimulating. He never felt this elated while creating before and _her_ voice was silent in his head for once. He used a rich palette consisting of chrome yellow, Prussian blue, yellow ochre, charcoal black, artificial ultramarine and lastly some vermillion.

He was not afraid anymore, two pair of invisible wings growing behind his back as the image of a darkly beautiful young man took shape on his once _barren_ canvas. He wanted to breathe life into this pair of full lips with the power of his talent; he craved to sense their first exhale of air on his skin.

“I can’t take it anymore. Can I move a little?”

Javier snapped out of his creative trance, his eyes glazed and distant. Yuzuru’s voice seemed loud in the stillness of the room, unmistakable tension palpable in the stuffy air.

“Yes…yes, you may. That’s enough for today,” saying the words pained Javier but he was perfectly aware that his model indeed needed some rest.

The next moment Yuzuru was stealing a glimpse of the painting, looking over Javier’s shoulder from behind with curiosity.

His breath caught in his throat.

Yuzuru saw a slender neck and willowy arms, a deathly-pale complexion and a velvety texture of perfect skin, a _black halo_ around his head spreading its obscure radiance, eyelids shut in a promise of ecstasy, sensual lips curved in a shadow of a smile; he looked sinful and pure, demonic and angelic, mysterious and downright exposed.

He could recognize himself yet something was definitely off; an eerie _doppelganger_ _of his_ from parallel universe materializing under the painter’s brush. Yuzuru gasped, his gaze shifting to the depicted bouquet of flowers his dark twin was holding.

“Why did you make the daffodils _black_?”

Javier’s reply didn’t take long.

“Because black daffodils do not exist. They are _unnatural_ yet perfect! The beauty they possess can’t be found in this world, there is almost a supernatural quality to it. I think they suit you the best because you are exactly the same: you are too beautiful to be real, yet you a creature of flesh and blood…I am looking at you right now and think that I am the luckiest of mortals to have met you… when I was stagnating, when I was on the verge of precipice, my art dead inside… ”

Javier’s voice was brimming with unrestrained emotion.

“The moment I saw you, I knew it was _you_ who I was seeking for all these years. Do you believe in miracles, Yuzuru? Because I do now…after meeting you…”

Yuzuru shook his head a bit overwhelmed and flushed, the painter’s words both confusing and unsettling, their weird charm finding its way to pluck the deepest strings of his sensitive soul. He was at a loss and didn’t know how to react: should he turn away and leave immediately, this strange man sounding practically _possessed_ , or should he succumb to his curiosity and stay, learning about the charismatic artist more…

Javier’s eyes were boring through his face, searching something, never letting go. Yuzuru jolted as he sensed the man’s burning touch at his nape, his eyes widening in shock, yet he couldn’t move an inch as the man’s hectic breath ghosted over his trembling lips.

“ _I want you.”_

Words spoken unashamedly and even matter-of-factly; a blunt declaration of intention, a clap of thunder deafening Yuzuru’s senses, numbing the voice of reason in his head — his subsequent shudder didn’t escape Javier’s attention. He traced Yuzuru’s sharp cheekbone with his thumb tenderly, his eyes soft and caring.

“We’ll never be closer than we’ve already been in the last two hours. I’ve touched your soul and now I want to know your body…Doesn’t it make perfect sense? We’ve met on purpose, everything has its aim and consequence…Two human beings here and now, just you and me in the immensity of the universe…Isn’t it thrilling? We have this night at our disposal. Don’t think, just feel, my Yuzuru.”

Their beings collided like two molecules attracted to each other, senses exploding and bodies talking in a way the words never could.

Javier felt reborn, finding his personal _Spring of Life_ after all of the turmoil and suffering.

 

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of Yuzuru’s portrait by Javier is vaguely inspired by Edvard Munch’s oil painting “Madonna.” Below is a link to the painting (in case you are interested):
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madonna_(Munch_painting)#/media/File:Edvard_Munch_-_Madonna_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg


	3. III.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of flowers blooming on skin, strawberry shortcakes and ghosts of the past being conquered.

**

 

**POV Javier**

 

I thought I went to Heaven: days and nights mingling in a haze of our passion. You left in the morning to return at dusk, when the sun spread its last golden rays over the town. I never wanted you to leave in the first place and I even dared to ask you to live with me, a real audacity on my part. You only smiled whimsically, your delicate palm cradling my face. You didn’t say “yes” and you didn’t say “no”.  

My name was a perfect prayer on your perfect lips.

_Javier. Javier. Javier._

I thought it purified my soul from all of the dirt. Your voice alone could perform miracles.

I longed to melt into you without remnant: your divine skin under my trembling fingers being never enough. I worshipped each curve and line with my tongue and the way you arched into me from beneath made me forget about everything in this world, lost in your heated flesh. You absorbed me like the flower petals absorb dew-drops on a summer morning. I thought you were mine — my only Muse, my very Life; a rare diamond which I kept close to my heart. Through prisms of your beauty my artistic talent flourished, you nurtured my creative forces and I felt blessed because of having an opportunity to paint you.

A series of pencil sketches, several oil canvases were now decorating walls of my attic; _your faces_ staring from the walls at me even when you were away.

Still, I desired more.

Once when we were lying in bed, stark naked and pleasantly exhausted after our recent activities, I asked whether you trusted me fully. Your eyes were shining with newly found excitement and inquisitiveness. I’ve already had this idea in mind for quite some time. I didn’t want to scare you so I had to ask your permission first.

_“Will you be my canvas?”_

You’ve bitten your bruised lips and nodded, trembling from head to toe, excitement obvious. I found the first stroke of my brush over your exposed skin to be overwhelmingly _erotic_ ; the way you were lying motionless and obedient, letting me decorate your skin with _flowers_ , their petals blooming over the expanse of your snow-white flesh: fuchsia amaranths next to your protruding hipbones and blood-red poppies obscenely covering your erect nipples.

I saw you break into goosebumps and I could sense the unmistakable smell of your arousal tickling my nostrils, inflaming my insides with raw hunger, yet I restrained myself. I needed to finish my painting first.

Fern leaves encircled your tiny waist, snaking to the cute belly-button. I thought your lily-white, long neck was made for melancholic appeal of violets, small flowers looking like an exquisite necklace. I took hold of your thin ankle to make lotus open its royal petals on its ivory skin.

I craved to encapsulate this moment of poetic bliss, to have it enshrined in my memory. You looked like a pagan deity, so sensual and alluring I couldn’t hold back any longer. I licked your knee, a wet trail of saliva in a wake of my tongue moving to caress the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You couldn’t shift too much in order not to smear the paint, only whining hot and needy.

I took you in the mouth, to suck languidly, savoring your _flowery_ taste. My heart was beating violently against my ribcage as I took your already leaking cock deeper. The sounds you were making were music to my ears, your hot flesh pulsing against the back of my throat.

_Perfect._

I didn’t waste a single drop of your pearly essence, drinking the saltiness. Hovering above your sweaty face I poured some of it into your eagerly parted lips, my head spinning from acute want.

I let my finger slip past your quivering ring of muscles, right into your tight heat that was awaiting me as an ultimate reward; a key to the _Gates of Eden_ which only I possessed. You truly reminded a _celestial_ creature: vestal skin all glowing beautifully in a post-orgasmic bliss, new sparkles of arousal igniting by the movements of my knowing fingers inside your writhing body.

“Shh…Don’t move.”

I didn’t want my masterpiece damaged so I asked you to lay still and be patient, having all of the reigns in my hands. When my fingertip brushed your prostate you _screamed_ , torn by severe pleasure which made your eyes water, chest heaving erratically.

“You are so beautiful, my precious flower.”

Nonsensical declarations and semiconscious praises were spilling from my lips as I was watching you come for the second time, clenching violently around my impaling digits.

Fern leaves and ruby poppies covered in translucent drops of your warm sperm — a final touch to my _chef-d’oeuvre._               

I put your bended knees over my shoulders to take you in one powerful thrust, burying myself into you to the hilt. After several blindingly intense minutes I cried out brokenly, filling you up from the inside.

I sobbed into your neck, paint mixing with our sweat and semen between our entangled bodies. I didn’t hurry to pull out, wanting to prolong this blissful moment of unparalleled intimacy. I licked your tears and your short nails were digging into my forearms with bruising force. I wanted you to leave marks on my skin too because it seemed absolutely right and _necessary_.

“Oh, God…,” you groaned exasperatingly while looking at your own reflection in the mirror. “I look awful, Javier!”

I beamed at you innocently, still lying in the sweat-drenched bedsheets, not able to move a finger.

“I think I have forgotten about _damask roses_ …Their rose-colored, tender petals against your skin…”

You disappeared into the shower, closing the door behind with a loud bang and I chuckled.

“How am I going to work tomorrow? Do you have some sort of detergent? ” your voice reached me through the noise of running water.

Warmth flooded me to the brim.

“Of course, just give me a minute.”

 

**

Whipped cream from the strawberry shortcake melted against my palate and I licked my lips deliberately. You were wearing your shop-assistant uniform, consisting of plain white shirt and burgundy red cotton trousers, a thin belt of black leather around your wasp waist. I was sitting at the table in the corner, looking at you from a far, pretending to be one of the common clients. I have decided to choose this specific dessert from the menu of the sweet-shop because it reminded me of the way your skin smelled: of course there was an unmistakable and ever-present tint of _vanilla_ but the freshness of ripe, succulent berry was hard to miss as well.

I couldn’t care less that I began to attract surprised glances _(I‘ve drunk my cup of black coffee more than two hours ago and there was not a crumb left on the plate in front of me)_. I simply didn’t want to leave, my eyes never off your svelte figure.

You motioned me to get out a couple of times, with light gestures of your expressive hands but I only kept on smiling. Why should I go when the sole center of my existence is here, right before my eyes and currently occupied with talking to a bald fat-man, who definitely is in need of reconsidering the possibility of his visits here in the future (along with his eating habits).

“How are you doing, Javier?”

A velvety voice _from the past_ that made my skin crawl. _She_ had the same hazelnut curls and amber-hued, light-brown eyes. For a moment I thought I was dreaming. In the last two months and a half she stopped existing for me, her once dear to my heart image buried securely underneath multiple layers of paint and my newly acquired passion for the young man.

_My savior._

“I am perfectly fine.”

Words scratched at my throat, shallow and devoid of any emotions. She pinched the corners of her thin lips, staring at me unwaveringly, as if looking for a cause of the change — she left me withering, on the brink of creative death, suffering from severe depression but now I was blooming in front of her bewildered eyes; _not dead at all_ — far from it, I am ready to bet she has never seen me more alive.

She traced the direction of my gaze with her eyes.

“I see you have found a new Muse…”

I couldn’t stand her looking at _my_ Yuzuru. I took her by the arm forcefully, desperately wanting to end this ill-fated, accidental meeting.

“Let’s leave now. Come!”

I practically dragged her towards the exit, feeling a pair of dark eyes boring through the back of my head with frightening intensity. I would have to deal with the jealousy of my precious boy later ( _venomous fleurs du mal: images of green ivy leaves entwining Yuzuru’s beating heart flashing in my mind_ ).

We stopped in the street, several steps away from the entrance, and she began speaking immediately, perhaps realizing that her time was limited.

“Don’t you know how it all ends…Do you think it will be different this time? With this innocent looking boy! I’ve never even had an idea you were actually into boys, Javier.”

I clenched my jaw.

“Does it really matter? Love knows no gender, I realized it the moment I saw him. ”

Her cynical smirk pierced through me like a sword.

“Do you think I don’t know you well enough? Do you think I believe into sincerity of your words? You are way too greedy, way too selfish, my dear Javi…”

She took a step closer, her bitter lemongrass perfume assaulting my senses.

_The ghosts of the past are dead in my soul._

_Dead in my soul._

_For the rest of eternity._

“I have moved on and you’d better do too, Lucrezia.”

Poignancy extinguished sparkles at the bottom of her eyes.

“You know what, Javier?! Beauty can be poisonous, it can bring salvation but it can be just as deadly as a bite of a snake. You see him as saint…Perhaps, he really is… but the thing is that you are _not_ …For how long shall he be able to sustain your creativity, hm?! Tell me!”

I didn’t want to listen, yet I did nothing to put an end to her heartless tirade, letting her venom seep into my soul.

“You would never love him the way you loved me.”

Turning away from her, I uttered with conviction:

“You are right, I _already_ love him more.”

 

**

The moment I entered the sweet-shop again I looked straight into your eyes, unasked questions staring back at me. I wouldn’t lie or hide my past. I wouldn’t shy away from the dark times I had to endure before you appeared in my life. I would let you see my scars because I trust you more than I trust myself.

I know not of the future but there is only now and here that truly matters to me.

“I need you,” I am whispering silently across the counter, making sure you hear every word, the bald-headed man looking at me with shocked expression, apparently fuming with righteous indignation.

I don’t give a damn.

You only smile at me, averting your eyes and as I feel your long fingers brush my knuckles fondly my heartbeat flutters.

_My Muse._

_My starry night._

_My Yuzuru._

 

**

**Author's Note:**

> Art references:  
> 1\. “The Starry Night” is an oil on canvas by the Dutch post-impressionist painter Vincent van Gogh.  
> https://artsandculture.google.com/asset/the-starry-night/bgEuwDxel93-Pg?hl=ru
> 
> 2\. Some of Vincent van Gogh's most famous works are his “Sunflower” series.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sunflowers_(Van_Gogh_series)
> 
> 3\. “The Scream” is the popular name given to a composition created by Norwegian Expressionist artist Edvard Munch in 1893. The original German title given by Munch to his work was “Der Schrei der Natur“ (The Scream of Nature), and the Norwegian title is “Skrik” (Shriek).  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Scream#/media/File:Edvard_Munch,_1893,_The_Scream,_oil,_tempera_and_pastel_on_cardboard,_91_x_73_cm,_National_Gallery_of_Norway.jpg
> 
> 4\. The “Mona Lisa” or “La Gioconda” is a half-length portrait painting by the Italian Renaissance artist Leonardo da Vinci.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mona_Lisa#/media/File:Mona_Lisa,_by_Leonardo_da_Vinci,_from_C2RMF_retouched.jpg


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